


Yours

by tarie



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-14
Updated: 2012-10-14
Packaged: 2017-11-16 08:09:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/537328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tarie/pseuds/tarie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The war does things to people. Changes them. Makes them forget. Harry hopes Severus will one day remember.  (Harry/Snape)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Yours

“Doesn’t seem to be making any improvement, the poor dear,” the motherly-looking Healer whispered as she opened the door of the Janus Thickey ward. “Just sits and stares out the window all day, not saying but a word, bless him. The only time he ever makes so much as a peep is when the Longbottoms’ son visits with his sweet little babby. He perks right up and makes a wee noise.” The Healer shook her head sadly and clucked her tongue. “Oh, it makes the heart ache.”

Harry nodded absently, following her down the corridor. Six months. He’d been in here for six months, it wasn’t very likely that he would be released anytime soon, and it was all Harry’s fault, wasn’t it?

The Healer left him to it, for which Harry was grateful. Glancing around the ward, there was old Broderick, pointing at a hippogriff calendar and babbling to himself in a language Harry didn’t know, Agnes barking at a fly on the wall, and—

“Hullo! You’d like an autograph, would you? I know joined-up writing!”

“Hullo, Professor,” Harry said awkwardly. “Sure, I’d love an autograph.” He had a whole trunk full of Gilderoy Lockhart autographed pictures by now.

“Oh, let’s make it--”

“A round dozen,” Harry cut in. “For my little friends, so nobody will be left out.”

“Yes!” Gilderoy cried, dashing off toward his stack of photographs, quill already in hand.

Heart sinking -- nobody ever seemed to improve round here – Harry turned toward the window, and there he was. Rather, there the back of his chair was. Harry could see the top of his head, hair dark as coal and stringy, and he wondered if today would be the day that Severus recognized him. Remembered him. Remembered _them_.

Squaring his shoulders, Harry inhaled deeply and headed over to where Severus sat.

“Hul--” Before he could get the greeting out, he felt a small tap on his shoulder.

Staring up at him was a thin woman with white, wispy hair.

“All right, Mrs Longbottom?” he said, though he knew she wouldn’t answer him. She never spoke. She did, however, drop a Chocolate Frog card bearing Albus Dumbledore’s face into his waiting palm. The card hit the heel of his palm and fell to the floor.

“Thanks,” Harry said, then stooped to pick up the card. Just as he pinched up the card between his thumb and forefinger, he spied something small and green out of the corner of his eye. Retrieving it, Harry was surprised to discover that it was a pacifier. Standing, he offered it to Mrs Longbottom, immediately figuring it to belong to her grandson. She shook her head and pointed toward Severus, then shuffled away.

Holding the small bit of plastic and rubber in his hand, Harry stood beside Severus, looking down into his sallow face and dark eyes. Hoping against hope for some sign of recognition, Harry knelt down in front of him.

“Hullo, Severus.”

Nothing.

Harry swallowed hard and tried again, reaching out to touch Severus’s shoulder this time, but it was of no use; there was no response.

Despite the lack of receptiveness, Harry sat on the floor next to Severus, speaking to him in a quiet voice, filling him in on happenings in the wizarding world, interrupted three times by Professor Lockhart with his pictures.

Harry stayed until the Healer came round to tell him that visiting hours were over. “Come again next week, dear, if your schedule permits. He’ll miss you if you stay away.”

He forced a smile until she bustled over to check on Neville’s parents, then rose to his feet. Overcome with guilt and anger, Harry clenched a hand into a fist and turned on his heel to leave. While he was pushing the door open, he remembered the pacifier he’d found earlier. Removing it from a pocket, he went to Severus again and pressed it into his palm.

“Yous, I think,” he said, pulling his hand away to wipe at his suddenly stinging eyes.

Harry didn’t get to wipe his eyes just then, though. Thin, bony fingers wrapped round his wrist; Harry gasped and met black, glassy eyes.

“Mine,” Severus said. His lip curled for just a second before his entire frame went slack.

“Yours,” Harry said faintly. Then, louder, with conviction: “Yours.”


End file.
